The Evil Ramifications of Pests and TShirts
by soulmatesDC
Summary: When something freaks Mrs. Benson out, Spencer comes to the rescue. Carly has her own problems with her school's resident businessman. hints of each -- Mrs. Benson/Spencer, Carly/Rodney, Sam/Gibby, Freddie/Duke


A/N: Gift fic for _ifanciful_ on livejournal's _groovysmoothie_'s fic exchange.

Enjoy and review

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

'_Save the raining days for another time'_

"I'm just here to say read between the lines," Spencer sang along as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, smiling when he read the screen. "Hey Socko," he said, digging into his pocket for his keys.

…

"Yep, just got back"

…

"Yeah, got them all, even the cactus in the guest room." Spencer listened, leaning against the wall in the hallway, twirling his keys around his finger.

…

"Oh? It didn't need to be watered? Hmm."

…

"Of course I was kidding," Spencer bit his lip, hoping Socko believed him. "So, heh, where did you happen to buy it?"

…

"Next to the place with the watermelons and body paint?"

…

"Yeah, yeah. Good times."

"Ahhh!"

The shrill scream caused Spencer to drop his keys. After picking them up, he turned to face the Benson's front door. "Look Socko, I got to go. Enjoy the convention." Spencer closed his phone and walked the couple of steps to the door across the hall. "Mrs. Benson?" he called, knocking twice on the door. He heard shuffling, a thump, and another scream. "Mrs. Benson?" he said louder, ringing the doorbell this time.

The door swung open suddenly, and Spencer took a quick step back when he noticed the crazed gleam in Mrs. Benson's eyes. "Oh, Spencer!" she said, and Spencer realized that her voice sounded on the verge of a breakdown. "We have pests!"

"Pests?" Spencer questioned, edging closer to his own door.

"Yes," she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into her apartment. He looked around wearily, searching for these supposed pests. "In here," and he was led to the kitchen, through the living room that was opposite from his own in so many ways.

They stopped, and Spencer somehow found himself in front of Mrs. Benson when he swore he was at least an arm length, his own, behind her the entire time. "There," she whispered, pointing to the corner between the refrigerator and counter.

Spencer leaned over, squinting his eyes, trying to pinpoint what exactly he should be looking for. And then he saw it. A couple, five at the most, small black dots moving around on the floor.

"I knew I shouldn't have bought that loaf of Italian bread," Mrs. Benson whispered. "All those crumbs."

Sighing, Spencer went to move closer, lifting his foot to hover above Mrs. Benson's uninvited guests.

"No!" Mrs. Benson yelled, yanking Spencer back by his collar.

"Wha–?" Spencer began when he regained his balance. "They're only ants."

"You can't kill them with your shoes," she told him. "Do you realize there will be bug guts all over the bottom of them? Do you understand how dirty that will be?"

"Um… you do realize I walk outside with these on, right? Like, on the sidewalk."

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked, the crazed glint back in her eyes.

"I… well… never mind." Spencer stood there, not really knowing what to do and wondering if he'd be able to get away with running out of there like his hair was on fire. However, when Mrs. Benson screamed when another ant seemed to materialize out of no where broke him out of his thoughts. "Why don't you just buy some spray or something?"

"Spray?" she asked. "Like a poison?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

Her hand, formerly clutching the edge of the counter, lifted to clutch her blouse. "What kind of mother do you take me for?"

"Umm…"

"Poison!" she huffed. "Around my Fredward!"

"Well, uh, I guess you can call an exterminator, or something." Spencer started towards the door, thinking he'd be able to escape with his suggestion.

"Do you realize that they use poisons as well?" she said, grabbing his arm when the ants started moving closer to them, by about an inch. "And they won't care about my child's safety!" She looked at him, the crazed light was dimmed a bit, but she developed an 'I'm a kicked puppy' sort of look about her. And Spencer was a sucker for kicked puppies.

"Isn't there anything you can do to help?" She asked, and the pleading catch to her voice had Spencer. "Like one of your little art things or something?"

And suddenly, Spencer realized he had exactly what Mrs. Benson needed. "Yeah," he told her. "Just give me a minute."

Running through his apartment, after unlocking the front door and tossing his special watering can on the sofa, he skidded to a halt in the hallway outside of his bedroom. Rummaging through his Cart-O-Stuff, Spencer found what he was looking for and spun around to head back to the Benson's.

"You found it?" Mrs. Benson was there, making Spencer's heart race because he didn't realize she followed him into his apartment. He crept a little closer to her, making her line of sight leave his open bedroom door, since there was dirty clothing scattered across the floor.

"Yup," he smiled, holding up the object. It was a really old doll he had altered, a cross between a Barbie and a G.I. Joe, with nails in its combat boots and a yellow dress on. "I call it my Little Tap Dancing Assassin."

***

"I just cannot believe he had the audacity," Carly started, taking out her keys as they approached the door.

"Audacity?" Sam asked.

"The nerve!" Carly clarified, violently shoving the key into the lock. "To put _my face_ on the shirt."

"Well," Sam followed Carly into the apartment, tossing her bag to the side and heading over to the kitchen. "You are kind of famous Carls, and he was trying to promote his business," she called over her shoulder, face buried in the refrigerator.

"What business? Ripping off unsuspecting kids is not a business!"

Rolling her eyes, Sam grabbed Spencer's Chinese leftovers and picked up a fork on her way back into the living room. She plopped down next to Carly, rolling her eyes again at the scowl and folded arms. "You bought something yourself from him just last week," she told her, opening up the food container. "Oh, how I love Spencer for always getting ribs," she said to herself.

"That's not the point!" Carly argued. "You know I couldn't find that poster of Cuttlefish anywhere."

"And Rodney did charge you less than he should have, knowing you were desperate."

"I was not desperate!"

"Mmhmm," Sam mumbled around a mouthful of fried rice.

"Besides," Carly huffed. "What does me buying a poster have anything to do with my face on a shirt, with his, on his body?"

Swallowing, because she didn't want to get yelled at, _again_, for spraying the Shay living room with food, Sam put down the container and turned to Carly. "Did you not read the back of the shirt?" Sam waited, but Carly remained staring moodily into space. "Rodney's making shirts with anyone's face on it. All you have to do is provide the pictures and he'll Photoshop them together. And the one with the two of you looked pretty good."

Carly ignored Sam, "Why would anyone buy one of those anyway?" she gripped, standing up and pacing in front of Sam.

Shrugging, Sam grabbed her food and began eating again, since she figured Carly wasn't paying attention anyway. "Well, _I _ordered two."

"What?!" Carly asked, spinning around and facing Sam. "How could you?"

"Carls, it's just a picture." Sam brought the fork to her mouth, but pouted when Carly ripped it out of her hand. "Hey!"

"Who are you having _him_ put on them?"

"Well, I got one with me and Gibby."

"Sam," Carly drew out her name, knowing she was up to something.

"I think it'll be cute," Sam replied innocently.

"Sam," Carly said again.

"Fine!" Sam exclaimed. "I figure he'll either freak out and run away, or completely adore me and give me anything I want." Carly raised an eyebrow. "And his mom is an excellent baker and I want his desserts!"

"Oh, Sam," Carly said, handing back over the fork.

Sam ate the forkful, and then another before Carly could take the fork away again. "And the other one is going to be a gift… for Freddie."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Nope, but I'm going to tell you anyway." Sam smiled, "Freddie and Duke."

"Blackmail?"

"Naw, just for laughs."

"You realize you're going to hell right?"

"Yeah," Sam shrugged, digging into her food again. "My mom always tells me that, and something to do with a hand basket. I figure it's a plus if she's going to feed me."

The girls were startled when someone banged on the door, Sam quickly picking up the rib that fell. And just as Carly moved to answer it, Freddie stormed into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. "Is Spencer home? Can he drive me to the hospital?" he said quickly, looking around frantically and walking towards Spencer's bedroom.

"Um, I dunno, we haven't seen him." Carly said as Freddie came back into the hallway. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Freddie said, heading back to the door. "There was a fire in my apartment and I can't find my mom. There's no note and she still doesn't have a phone. You know her and her fear of brain tumors."

"Freddie, sit down." Carly told him, leading the worried boy to the couch. Sam grimaced when he sat next to her, but Freddie ignored her, chewing on his thumb nail. "We'll call the hospital and make sure she's not there. And then we'll call Spencer and see if he knows anything."

Freddie opened his mouth to comment, but just then they heard footsteps on the stairs and a feminine laugh.

"Oh Spencer," a familiar voice said. "That couldn't have really happened."

"But it did, and I thought I would capture the moment forever in art form. And what better place to put it than in the bathroom, where the most people could see it?"

"But having it imprinted into the tiles of the shower?" she trailed off in a giggle.

Spencer laughed along with her. "I'm glad you understand Mrs. Benson."

"Please Spencer, call me Marissa."

"Oh god," Sam said.

"Not again," Carly agreed.

"Mom?" Freddie said, jumping off the couch and running towards the stairs. He stopped short, eyes wide, taking in his mother's appearance. She was in sweatpants and a t-shirt, two things Freddie knew she didn't own, and her hair was wet. "What are you wearing? What happened? Why is the kitchen all black and smoky?"

"Oh well," Mrs. Benson giggled, making Sam choke on a rib. "We had a pest problem."

"Ants," Spencer interrupted.

"Right," Mrs. Benson smiled at him. "And Spencer was kind enough to help get rid of them. Unfortunately his equipment didn't work properly," she said as she walked into the kitchen, pulling up the legs of the pants because she kept stepping on them.

"Oh god," Sam said again, losing her appetite and putting down the food.

"Yeah, you see, it caught on fire." Spencer sat down on a stool, thanking Mrs. Benson for the drink she handed him.

"You're Tap Dancing Assassin?" Carly asked.

"My _Little_ Tap Dancing Assassin," Spencer clarified.

"He has a big one?" Freddie whispered to Sam, who shrugged.

"Anyway," Mrs. Benson continued. "It was doing its job, when all of a sudden it burst into flames."

Spencer chuckled nervously, looking at the three teens in the living room. "Weird huh?" he said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Unfortunately it was close to the refrigerator at the time, and Freddie's tests went up in flames."

"Your mom puts your tests on the fridge?" Sam asked.

"Shut up," Freddie shot back.

"Okay" Carly said slowly, trying to take everything in. "They why are you here, wet, and in Spencer's clothing?"

"I couldn't very well stay there with all the smoke. And poor Freddie has weak lungs."

"Mom, I do not!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of honey," she told him. "And Spencer offered to let us stay here until the contractor comes out to fix the damage."

"What?!" Carly asked, turning towards Spencer. "They're going to stay here? Like sleep and eat and everything?"

"It's kind of my fault Carly," he said. "And it's only a week."

"A week?" she asked, falling onto the couch.

Mrs. Benson turned to Spencer. "You're too hard on yourself." And when she smiled, Carly turned to Sam and Freddie and gestured wildly.

"Can I stay here too?"

"Sam!" Carly said, not believing everything that was happening.

"What?" she asked. "This is going to be awesome."

"Oh, that would be nice. We can all play those educational games I got for Freddie's last birthday."

"See," Sam said. "Awesome," and her grin was a tad evil.

"Um, well, okay then." Freddie sat down on the couch next to Carly, trying to ignore Sam's shaking from holding back her laughter. "And why are you wearing Spencer's clothes?"

"I needed to take a shower and get the smoke stench out of my hair. And the apartment is too smoky for me to go back and grab some clothes, so Spencer offered something of his." She smiled again at Spencer, causing Sam to laugh at the expressions on Freddie and Carly's faces.

"I think I'm getting a headache." Carly stood and headed to the bathroom for some aspirin.

"Can you grab me some?" Freddie asked, head between his knees.

"Why are you guys making this seem like it's something bad? I think it's hilarious." Sam gestured towards Spencer and Mrs. Benson, who were now talking together near the stove.

"Samantha," Mrs. Benson called.

"Ugh," Sam mumbled.

"Are you staying for dinner? I'm making Fish Loaf."

"Oh, um… I'm actually allergic to fish in the form of loaf. I'll just order a pizza or something."

"Nonsense honey, I'll just make something else." Mrs. Benson opened the refrigerator, peering into and moving things around. "How do you feel about Fish Stew?" she called.

"You know, I've never had Fish Stew Marissa."

"Really? Now I'm going to have to make it," Mrs. Benson told Spencer. "Can you come over here and help chop the carrots."

"No problem," he said, walking over and grabbing a knife on the way.

"Carls? Can you grab me some aspirin too?"

Mrs. Benson handed over the carrots to Spencer. She took a couple of potatoes as well, but lost her grip on one. She tossed another up into the air to catch the one that began to fall, then another to catch the one coming back down.

Spencer dropped the carrots onto the counter, leaning over the kitchen island with his chin in his hand. "You could juggle?" he asked amazed.

"Oh, yes. I took a class in college."

"Could you juggle for me?" he asked.

"Maybe later," and she smiled again. "After we put the children to bed."

Carly walked back into the living room, looking between the kitchen and the couch. "Why did Freddie faint?" she asked, sitting down next to Sam and handing over the aspirin.

"You do not want to know."

***

"Sam," Carly whined. "I've had a really bad couple of days. Do you have to wear that?"

Sam ran her hands down her shirt, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles. "Yes," she told Carly, looking over her head for someone. "Did you hear what Gibby's mom made this week?"

"Hey Carly," Gibby said, coming around the corner. "Oh, uh… hey Sam." His eyes were on her shirt, and it seemed like he couldn't look away. "That's an interesting shirt."

"Oh," Sam glanced down. "This old thing?" she said nonchalantly. She eyed the bag in his hand, containing his lunch. "You want to eat lunch with us today?" she asked, grabbing his hand and pulling him along towards the lunchroom, winking at Carly over her shoulder.

"Was that Sam? Holding Gibby's hand?" Freddie asked, coming up behind Carly.

"Yeah," she shook her head, turning towards Freddie. "Oh no," she said.

"What?"

"Fred!" someone screamed in Freddie's ear, wrapping their huge arm around his neck, practically cutting off his circulation. "I love it. We look great."

"Can't breathe," Freddie wheezed, clawing at Duke's arm.

"I guess Sam decided to give it to Duke instead," Carly said to herself as she pulled out her phone and dialed the nurse. She glared at Rodney as she brought the phone up to her ear, narrowing her eyes more when he smiled, pointed to her face on his shirt and waved.


End file.
